THE FINAL
The past few months had been difficult. They’d had to round up Imanol’s supporters first off; Itzal and his growing spy network had assessed their danger and their culpability for various grievances before Zorion, Alaia, and their new Council could decide what to do with them.
The Royal Treasury had been a shambles, but they had expected that, and selling Imanol’s gold, jewels, and silks in foreign markets had turned them enough profit to rebuild the worst parts of the capital.
The partnerships that Zorion had worked so hard to build with the villages had begun to bring trade back to the city. Life was starting to get easier for the citizens, though it would take years for the damage to fully heal.
And all that time, Imanol had sat in a cell in the palace dungeons, comfortable, but under the heaviest guard, his only company a few deaf old priestesses who read prayers to him several times a day. That was Osane’s idea.
But now, the time had come to pass judgement. It hadn’t been that difficult to find proof of his crimes. Most of his conspirators had been only too happy to point fingers and provide evidence when the tide had turned against them, in exchange for the relative mercy of loss of land and titles.
But Imanol and his two main lieutenants—the Seneschal, who had actually poisoned Zorion’s father, and his chief ally among the nobility, Lord Alfonso—would see no mercy. Their crimes were too great, and their guilt too clear. Many lives had been lost, and many more made to suffer for the sake of their ambition, and worst of all, none of them seemed to feel the slightest remorse until it was clear they would not escape their execution.
Imanol was still indignant, showing not even the slightest sign of contrition.
Zorion was not the sort of man who enjoyed killing, but he had always known that Imanol was too dangerous to be left alive. Therefore, he had resigned himself to this duty, one he would perform in person. The prisoners had been brought to the peak of the sacred mountain, the same that held the High Temple, and with Osane overseeing, they were tied to stakes at the very summit. It was a dramatic place for an execution, stark and windswept, the highest point in the kingdom.
When the sun had reached its zenith, King Zorion emerged, dragon-formed, his scales shining in the autumn sun, and his wife stood at his side, her hand lying possessively on his neck.
Have you any last words? he asked, his mental voice extending to everyone present. The two men on either side of the former regent were wan and silent, but Imanol sneered.
“Is this what your justice and nobility comes to, boy? Murdering a member of your own family?” Zorion closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It was the response he had expected.
It isn’t justice, but it’s the best I can do. My family will never be safe until you’re gone, and it is more merciful than the death you gave my father. It is my responsibility. Alaia kept her hand on his neck, to let him know she was with him.
“By the will of the King and of the gods,” Osane said, “May you find atonement in the land beyond.” She stood back and Zorion took a deep breath before breathing out a jet of fire that consumed the three men.
In a few moments, there was nothing but ashes and charred bones. He bowed his head and turned away. A wind gusted over the mountain, blowing a cloud of ashes into the snow.
“Will you be staying with us for the evening meal?” Osane inquired gently as they made their way back to the temple “We would be delighted to have both of you.”
“Thank you,” Alaia said, “but I think it would be best if we returned home. Things are still a bit unsettled, and the triplets would be missing us at bedtime.”
“I’m sure they would.” Osane said, smiling. “I hope I’m still allowed to say that you did well today, Zorion. I know that was difficult, but it was needed for the healing to begin. There are more trials to come.”
He sighed and looked up at the priestess. I know. Whatever great evil the children are destined to defeat hasn’t yet showed itself. I hope we have many more years of peace before that happens. But thank you, for everything you’ve done for us.
“I do as the gods and my conscience bid me. I am proud to serve you as my King, just as I have been proud to teach and guide you since you were a boy,” she said, bowing her head. “Go home to your children. Carefully, I might add. The mountain winds can be unpredictable.”
They went out to a projection of rock on the other side of the peak from the execution peak, and Zorion leaned down so Alaia could pull herself astride his neck. As strange as it had been at first, she found herself wearing breeches more and more, even under her skirts. For one thing, they protected her legs from chafing on Zorion’s scales, and, as she wasn’t afraid of flying anymore, it was something she often had to consider.
Once she was safely mounted, she sighed and leaned over his neck, enjoying the warmth of his scales in the cold mountain air. She kissed his brow and he rumbled with pleasure. “I know that was hard for you, but there was really no other choice, if we are ever to have peace of mind. Imanol was never not going to be a threat.”
I know, he replied. I just can’t understand what drove him. He was my mother’s nephew, and he was treated well even after his father was disinherited. He had wealth, comfort, and status. His first marriage was to a beautiful woman who doted on him. But it wasn’t enough. The fact that he never saw anything wrong with his actions is… disheartening.
Alaia shrugged. “He seems to have felt he’d been slighted by not becoming your regent. Perhaps that was what he’d been led to believe. Maybe he just needed to feel he was in control. I’m not sure I want to understand a man like him, and I find it comforting that you don’t.” She stroked the sensitive scales below Zorion’s eyes in a soothing manner. “You aren’t like him, and that’s one of the reasons I love you.”
He let out a long sigh, and the tension in his muscles lessened. And I love you, Alaia. You somehow always know just what to say to ease my mind. He unfurled his wings, the wind rippling the translucent wingsails. Let’s go home.
They spiraled over the mountain, down and down, past the snowy peaks. Someone shouted a greeting from the temple watchtower, and Zorion roared in response. Over the fields and forested foothills they flew, passing over the shining river before flying low over the city they called home.
People looked up, pointing and waving, and Alaia waved back. Everyone knew the King and Queen by sight now, even if mostly they knew Zorion as a dragon. The trumpet on the palace walls blew as the guards sighted them, and a space was cleared for them to glide in for a gentle landing.
The triplets, now walking on unsteady feet, toddled excitedly across the courtyard to greet them, trailed by Galena and Maite at a more sedate pace. The children had never been afraid of their father’s dragon form, and now they did their best to climb all over him.
Izar’s red curls were like a flame in the sunlight as she gleefully bounced on his nose, and Zuzen was looking more like his father every day. Naia was somewhere in between in appearance, with silky auburn hair and honey colored skin. She was standing next to Zorion’s eye, chattering and patting his cheek.
Eventually, Maude came out with some clothes so he could change back. When he was human again and, at least, not completely naked, they made their way up the palace steps. Itzal came out of the library to meet them, his fingers spattered with ink.
“So, it’s done?” he asked. The spymaster had wanted to see the execution himself but had ultimately agreed with their decision not to make it a public occasion. If any of his supporters were left, there was no reason to give them a platform for their vitriol or a martyr to mourn. Zorion nodded.
“It’s over,” he said, and they all went in for dinner.
*******************
A few months later, Alaia woke in the late morning sunlight to familiar arms around her and a kiss on the back of her neck. She curved her body into his and felt something press insistently into the back of her thigh. She laughed low in her throat as Zorion’s hands caressed her breasts and stomach.
It wasn’t a bad way to wake up. He took his time in pleasuring her this morning, bringing her to the peak again and again until she could hardly form a sentence. When she was lying shaking and limp in his arms, he kissed her cheek and murmured “Happy birthday,” in her ear.
Maude had insisted they sleep in and leave the festivities to her and the rest of the household. A late breakfast was awaiting them when they emerged from the bath. That was one perk of living in the palace; they had a suite of rooms to themselves, with the children at one end of the hall and Lorea at the other. Unfortunately, they were often much too busy to take advantage of their newfound privacy.
“So, what is the plan for today?” Alaia asked as they ate. Zorion smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
“We’ll have a private family lunch in a few hours; then the nobles will arrive to shower you with gifts and tell you how wonderful you are. Tonight will be the feast for the common folk, with free food and ale for everyone. Itzal procured something called fireworks from Manchuria which I’m told are amazing to behold, though perhaps a little too scary for the children.”
She squirmed uncomfortably. “This seems like an awful lot of fuss over my birthday.” The triplets’ first birthday had been, of course, a huge ordeal. They’d received gifts from as far as Nippon, and the festivities in the city had lasted until dawn. Though she couldn’t deny that it had been good for the people’s morale, she didn’t feel like she was worth so much trouble.
Everything about their new royal lifestyle had been an adjustment, but the thing Alaia still had trouble with was how much everything about her mattered to people. If she wore a certain dress, all the noble ladies wanted one just like it. If she braided her hair, soon everyone at court would. She was not the kind of person to enjoy such power. If anything, it made her vaguely ill.
“It’s traditional,” Zorion said, “Especially the feast. It’s a chance for us to share our joy with our people, and they love you, so of course they want to celebrate.” It was difficult to argue with that. After so many years of shortage, the people deserved to be allowed to indulge a few times a year. “But before any of that, I have my own surprise for you,” he said.
They went out to the gardens, which had become one of Alaia’s favorite places, and Zorion led her by the hand past the fountains and trysting nooks, one of which still held a special place in her heart.
It was just past midwinter, so the gardens were gray and silent. The ground was covered in a thin layer of frost, and the old grannies in the sewing room were predicting thick snow by the end of the week.
Alaia still found a bleak beauty in the bare tree branches and skeletal hedges as they walked into the far end of the grounds where the gardeners and other laborers had been hard at work for weeks on Zorion’s secret project. Now there was a tiny garden, beds of dark earth surrounded by a low picket fence with a quaint wooden shed sitting adjacent.
“What is this?” she murmured, and Zorion squeezed her hand.
“I know your miss your home. We can’t visit there too often, so I thought I might bring a bit of your home back to you. Look inside.” The shed was bigger than she expected, and she let out a joyful gasp when she realized what it was. There was a pottery wheel and a kiln, with all the tools she would ever need hanging from pegs on the walls. It was almost the twin of the workshop back at home. It had been nearly a year since she’d been inside, but it was gravened into her memory.
She flung herself into her husband’s arms and kissed him hard on the mouth. He laughed and swung her in a circle. “How did you do this? It’s almost exactly like what I had at home.”
“He might’ve had some help,” said her father’s voice. “It turns out, the palace doesn’t have a potter anymore, and your mother misses her grandbabies.” Her parents were there on the other side of the garden, waiting with their arms open. Tears were running down her cheeks as she ran into their embrace.
The family lunch was chaotic and cheerful. The children were shy with their grandparents for a few minutes, but soon they were babbling nonsense at the top of their voices. Lorea would tell anyone that listened that Zorion had promised she could take part in Heartfire this year, in just a few short months.
Zorion was worried, of course. What if she ended up with someone awful? Surely not everyone could have their luck. But Alaia admonished him to trust in the gods who had given them so much. Even Itzal seemed happier. He kept himself busy, and if he looked wistful from time to time, Alaia was always there to offer her sympathy. They had a strange sort of friendship, but nonetheless important.
Meeting with the nobles was as exhausting as she expected it to be, but she survived it without a diplomatic incident, at the very least, and still had time to spend with the children before their bedtime.
Then it was time for the feast. The courtyard of the palace was set with long tables piled high with food donated by the nobles and the villages. Casks of ale and wine were set to one side, and troupes of acrobats and minstrels arrived to rehearse their acts before the people began to arrive. At sunset, she and Zorion went out to the balcony to preside over the festivities, throwing gifts of coins and candy to the onlookers. Despite her misgivings earlier in the day, the festive air was contagious.
That night, Alaia leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder as brilliant stars of red and green burst in the air above them with tremendous thundering booms. It was the most magical thing she had ever seen, though she thought her ears were going to ring for days. “Thank you for everything you did for my birthday. The nobles were a bit overwhelming, but everything else has been perfect,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t what I can possibly do for you that can match.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Being my wife is the best gift you could have ever given me,” he said, and then his lips curved into a smile. “Maybe in a few years, you could give me another child. That would be a good present.”
She chuckled. “We’ll see,” she said. “As long as you can promise me it will only be one this time.” His words had struck a spark in her, and she was already thinking about it with longing, the feeling of a child kicking inside her, a newborn’s downy-soft hair. A few years would be good.
Through all of the trials and struggles of the past two years, she never could have imagined herself in this place, Queen of the whole kingdom, happily married, with three beautiful, precocious children. If the lantern had floated a bit differently down the river, if Itzal had not persuaded Zorion to take it, life would be so much different. She didn’t want to change a thing
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